


What Friends Are For

by dracoqueen22



Series: Dear Lies [5]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftermath, Friendship, Gen, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Ratchet has acquired himself a pair of Lamborghini nanny-bots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short, follow-up ficlet to the 'Dear Lies' verse that came about as a result of a fan prompt on my livejournal.

“You're not recharging again.” 

Ratchet nearly leapt three feet into the air from sheer surprise. How Sunstreaker had managed to sneak up on him, with no Spec Ops training, was an absolute mystery. 

He half-turned to greet the gold twin, not surprised to find Sunstreaker leaning against one of the med-berths, arms folded across his chassis. “Where'd you come from?” Ratchet asked, choosing to ignore Sunstreaker's statement. 

The warrior rolled his optics. “Been here for twenty minutes. When was the last time you defragged?”

Ratchet turned back toward his workstation, picking up the set of tools he'd been sharpening. “None of your business.” 

Why, he wasn't sure, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had recently taken it upon themselves to nag Ratchet about everything. A task that was usually Wheeljack's, but some understanding had passed between the three of them and now Wheeljack spent more time with Prowl and Ratchet acquired a pair of Lamborghini nanny-bots. 

“More than a week then,” Sunstreaker said, but more to himself than to Ratchet. “You've let your finish slide, too. You look terrible.” 

Ratchet huffed a ventilation. “Wow, Sunstreaker. You really know how to make a bot feel good about himself.” 

“Wasn't my intention, Ratchet.” 

“What you really need is a good kick in the aft,” another voice inserted because, of course, where one twin was the other was sure to follow. 

Ratchet didn't have to turn. He could see well enough, in the reflection of the polished steel in front of him, Sideswipe standing just inside the doorway of the storage room. He had that determined set to his faceplates, which spoke of how willing both of them were to drag Ratchet out and sit on him until he had a proper recharge. 

He would know. They'd done it before. 

“You two truly are a picture of empathy and understanding,” Ratchet drawled, setting down his tools with a defining clink. He would be getting no more work done tonight. 

He could protest until his tanks ran dry but in the end, the twins were more annoying, physically stronger when working together, and Ratchet really was exhausted. 

“You know,” Sunstreaker said, rapping his fingers over his armor. “If you react like this every time Jazz gets close, eventually someone else is going to put two and two together.” 

“You probably need some energon, too,” Sideswipe added with a mischievous smile curling his lipplates. “So why don't you just go ahead and stop working now. Save us the trouble of forcing you.” 

Ratchet wiped off his servos, turning away from his workstation. “I know when I'm outnumbered. Harass me as you will, hoodlums.” 

Sideswipe grinned. Sunstreaker rolled his optics. 

“What would you do without us, Ratch?” Sideswipe said cheerily, juggling a cube of energon from his subspace. One probably laced with an additive sure to send Ratchet straight to recharge without protest. 

They'd done that before, too. Ratchet pretended not to notice. 

“Happily surrender to my depression?” Ratchet grumbled. 

“We wouldn't let you do that,” Sunstreaker said, and all but attached himself to Ratchet's side. “Come on. I'll fix your paint before anything else. You're embarrassing me.” 

“Sunny, you embarrass me,” Sideswipe commented. 

“Shut the frag up, Sideswipe.” 

“Make me, Sunshine. Better be careful though. Wouldn't want to get scratched.” 

Ratchet shook his helm as the two bickered around him, the noise more than enough to stir him out of his melancholy. For now. 

***


	2. The Care and Feeding of Ratchet the Hatchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have to go on a patrol, leaving Ratchet's care in Wheeljack's debatably capable hands. Luckily, they have just the thing to make life easier for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Fuzipenguin for providing me the prompt to write this.

“Are you sure you're up to this?” Sideswipe asks.   
  
Wheeljack crosses his arms. “He's been my best friend for longer than you've been functioning. I think I can handle it.”   
  
The Twins exchange glances.   
  
“I'll get the datapad,” says Sunstreaker before he walks away and starts rifling around in their storage chest.   
  
Wheeljack wonders how either of them can find anything in this haphazard mess they call their room.   
  
“What datapad?” Wheeljack asks.   
  
“You'll need it,” Sideswipe says. “We've worked hard to get him this far.”   
  
“I think I know how to babysit my best friend!” Wheeljack huffs, feeling more than a little irritated that these sparklings think they know more than him. “And I also think he'd be a little insulted you think he needs a nanny bot.”   
  
“Ratchet doesn’t know what he needs,” Sideswipe insists with a raised orbital ridge “He never has but especially not now. Not since, well, you know.”   
  
Yes, Wheeljack knows. And how surprisingly tactful for Sideswipe.   
  
“Here,” says Sunstreaker as he suddenly appears at Wheeljack's right side and hands over a datapad.   
  
Wheeljack is half-afraid of what's on it. He flicks the power switch, reads the title, and can't resist laughing out loud.   
  
_The Care and Feeding of one Ratchet the Hatchet._   
  
“Why would you even write this?” he asks.   
  
Sideswipe shrugs. “Thought it might come in handy some day.”   
  
“And we were right,” Sunstreaker agrees, moving to stand by his brother's side, presenting a united front as they often do.   
  
Wheeljack peers at the table of contents, his grin growing, as well as his sense of awe. There are chapters regarding energon intake, recharge requirements, frame maintenance schedules, paint upkeep, and even suggested activities to occupy Ratchet's downtime.   
  
His schedule is listed, hour by hour and day by day. Of course, it helps that Ratchet rarely deviates and can usually be found working.   
  
An addendum to this is Jazz's schedule, with potential conflicts highlighted in red.   
  
Wheeljack reboots his optics and looks up at the twins, strangely intent. “How long have you been working on this?”   
  
They exchange glances again and shrug in unison.   
  
“Since we came back from Yellowstone,” Sideswipe says, half-question and half-answer.   
  
“It started as a joke,” Sunstreaker adds. “Something Smokescreen said offhand and even though he has no idea what happened, it made sense.”   
  
“And then we realized we were actually helping so we kept adding to it,” says Sideswipe.   
  
Wheeljack is floored. He tucks the datapad into his subspace. “Thanks. I'm sure it will be of use.”   
  
“It better,” Sunstreaker warns.   
  
“Yeah,” Sideswipe adds. “We don't want to come back and find our favorite medic underfueled and undercharged.”   
  
“Or scuffed,” Sunstreaker says with a shudder.   
  
“I'll do my best,” Wheeljack promises.   
  
“Then we'll leave him in your capable hands for the next two weeks,” Sideswipe says as he backs Wheeljack toward the door.   
  
“And you better not blow him up,” Sunstreaker warns.  
  
Wheeljack huffs. “Hey! All of my explosions are intentional.”   
  
Sunstreaker smirks. “The warning stands.”   
  
The door closes in his face.   
  
Wheeljack rolls his optics.   
  
Who knew the Twins could be such nanny bots?   
  
Still...  
  
He considers the datapad in his subspace. Apparently, he and Prowl have some studying to do. Looking after Ratchet while the Twins are on long-range patrol just took on a whole new level of challenge.

***


End file.
